The Dreamer and the Bookkeeper
by Othellia
Summary: A Labryinth origin story. Eight years after Sarah defeats the labyrinth, Karen falls ill. Jareth is the only one with the power to heal her but refuses to help his former foe. With no other choice, Sarah begins to investigate just exactly how Jareth became the ruler of the labyrinth and if his power can somehow become hers. Sarah/Jareth, minor pre-story Jareth/OC.
1. The Tale of Sarah: Part One

A/N: As of now, I plan to update this story weekly. If I start falling behind, feel free to pester me.

* * *

Sarah had never liked the all too sterile hallways of hospitals. The off-color white that drenched the walls and permeated the air always gave her the feeling of one's soul being sucked away. As she sat on a waiting bench watching various doctors and nurses scuttle by, the unpleasant feeling wrapped around her skin, making her almost dizzy with claustrophobia. Next to her sat Toby with his new Game Boy in his hands. The power was off, his eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall.

After several minutes, their father lumbered slowly out of the room. Sarah and Toby stood up at once, but held their distance as Karen's doctor followed him shortly after. The two men bent their heads as they exchanged a few last words. She felt Toby's hand thread into hers. They stood, silent, until the doctor finally gave their father a solemn pat on the shoulder before walking away.

Toby moved first, dragging Sarah behind him. The little eight year had more muscle than most people gave him credit for, although currently Sarah wasn't giving him much resistance.

"Dad, what did the doctor say? Is Mom going to be okay?"

Their father turned slowly to face them, suddenly looking a lot older than he had just an hour ago. He opened his mouth to say something, then paused to swallow. Sarah felt Toby's grip tighten.

"Toby, Sarah... it seems your mother is going to be staying in the hospital for longer than we originally thought."

* * *

She'd graduated from college earlier that year, but - with her wonderful decision to major in history - jobs hadn't exactly lined themselves up at her doorstep. And so Sarah had received her diploma only to move straight back in with her parents, working part-time at the local supermarket while considering the potential expenses of grad school and sending out as many resumes as she could physically print. At least she got to volunteer at the library over the weekends, though she couldn't help the annoying, wistful pang that sometimes flared up whenever she was assigned the task of re-shelving books in the fantasy section.

Her life was good. Despite the fact that things hadn't been going exactly the way she'd hoped in her head, she had nothing to complain about. Sometimes she just had to remind herself that life didn't always give her what she wanted when she wanted it. And there had been some upsides. She got to hang out with Toby more. The little tyke had started to grow on her ever since that night; when she'd finally left for college, she'd actually cried over the fact that she wouldn't be there for him as much anymore. Her relationships with both Karen and her father had improved as well. They'd finally become a family.

But then came the doctor's visit about a month ago. Karen had been having a bit of difficulty breathing for the past couple months, so they'd scheduled an appointment. At first it had been a simple checkup. Then had come the x-rays, followed by the referral to the specialist which took another several weeks of waiting. The preliminary report had been harrowing enough on its own.

Cancer.

A few more visits with their family doctor became a hunt to find an available specialist. Despite her family's concerns, the various doctors and nurses had seemed to bend over backwards, saying that it was still in an early stage, that everything was going to be fine. And Sarah had almost believed them...

Until today.

Sarah flopped onto her bed, fingers running through her dark hair as she surveyed her old room. When she'd gone off to college, her father and Karen had converted it into a guest bedroom. Hardly any of her old things remained. Her bookshelves were gone, replaced with a small table barely big enough to fit the vase resting on it. A Monet replica hung on the wall above. Her old white nightstand had been switched out for a cherry-stained one. The dated floral wallpaper was still the same, it being harder to get rid of than old furniture. Karen had been talking about replacing it for years but had never gotten that far in her renovations.

Now Sarah was forced to wonder if she ever would.

No, she didn't want to think about that. Feeling a storm of tears coming on, Sarah grabbed a pillow from over her head and buried her face against it as she rolled ungracefully onto her stomach. Once her breathing was under control again, she turned her head to her right. Her old desk and mirror stood against the wall, two of the few pieces remaining from her teenage years.

After that night, she used to call on her friends through that mirror. She still talked to them from time to time, though the location now varied. If Sarah's college friends had ever noticed that she kept a pocket mirror with her at all times without any makeup case or hair brush to go with it, they'd never commented. Toby had, the first time she'd come back home.

Their family had been walking in the park as one of Karen's attempts to promote more family exercise. Hoggle had been talking to her that morning about a recent chicken fiasco, and her mental images had been too entertaining to leave on a cliffhanger. Toby had seen her slip the mirror into her pocket as they left. Karen was quick to dismiss it, but for Toby there'd always been a reason for everything. Sarah felt a small flicker of a smile on her face. Needless to say, the conclusion to the chicken fiasco ended up having to wait until after she'd gotten back home.

Fat load of good it did her now. Sarah sighed and clutched the pillow closer to her face.

Karen was in the hospital and her family had no idea when or even _if_ she'd be able to come home. A mistake, the doctor had said. An extra spot on the x-rays that none of them had noticed before. A spot that changed everything.

What was the good of being able to talk to mythical creatures through mirrors when Karen's life was at stake?

Sarah abruptly knelt up, the pillow gripped tight against her chest. What good was _any_ of it? She raised the pillow up, ready to fling it at the wall. What good was magic when it couldn't even-

Sarah froze.

What good was magic when it couldn't even help? When had she decided that? True, she'd never heard of any of the goblins possessing healing powers before, but that didn't mean none existed.

She lowered the pillow, taking as many deep breaths as possible. Of course she couldn't get her hopes up. She had no guarantee that any of them would help, that any of them would be able to help. And yet a small possibility began to take root in the back of her head. Her heart beginning to race like it hadn't in years, Sarah crept over to her old desk and sat down, brushing back a few loose strands of hair as she faced the mirror.

"Hoggle, I need you."

It took only a few seconds and yet far too long before her old, stout friend materialized in the glass plane before her. Once he did, Sarah realized how tightly she'd been holding everything inside of her as the past few weeks began to flood out. Watery eyes became silent tears, and silent tears became giant sobs that racked her body as she pushed herself through each day until the doctor's visit that morning.

"And I know that I never had the best relationship with her when I was young, but I really do think of her like my mother now. And even more than that, she's Toby's mother, and I don't even want to begin to imagine what he'll have to go through, what he is going through and... oh, Hoggle. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I _can_ do."

She hiccuped slightly as she rubbed her sleeve against her eyes in her seventh futile attempt to dry them.

Her friend lifted one of his gnarled hands as if to pat her shoulder, but stopped halfway, his hand coming to rest on the invisible barrier that divided their two worlds.

"Sarah..." Hoggle said, his brows lowering in sympathy. "I'd... I'd love to help, but-"

"Please don't say that no one in labyrinth can. There are so many of you. Surely someone has the power."

"Well, yes. You could say there is someone..."

Sarah's sniffles quietened as she slowly blinked at the old dwarf. Surely it couldn't be this easy. However, just as her heart started to swell, she noticed the tell-tale signs of one of his half-lies. A twitch of his right hand, the quick glance upwards, the reassuring pat to make sure his jewel bag was still around his waist. He wasn't telling her the whole story. Sarah wiped her eyes one last time and leaned forward.

"Someone," she repeated, insistently. "What kind of someone? Who is it?"

"Oh..." his brows furrowed together as his hands continued to fidget. "You can very well guess who."

"The Goblin King?"

"Ssh!" In reflex, Hoggle glanced around to see if anyone or anything was watching. As with all their conversations, Sarah felt it better not to mention that the king had ways of watching his subjects that couldn't be detected by merely looking over one's shoulder. Normally she humored the old dwarf, dancing around the point of a conversation with conspiratorial paranoia, but Sarah didn't have time to waste today.

"You really think he has the power to heal my step-mother?"

"Think? Oh, I've seen him drag creatures back from death's door itself. But the price... trust me, you're better off without him."

"Hoggle, she's my step-mother. She's Toby's _mother_. The price isn't an issue."

"You say that now. Wait until after he has you in his grip."

A flicker of doubt coiled in her mind. She quickly squashed it back down. "I've beat him once," she said. "He has no power over me."

"And you think the best way to treat that advantage is to ask him for a favor? Just like asking to sign over your soul on a golden platter."

"You've never talked about him like this before," Sarah said, slightly taken aback at Hoggle's hostile manner. "It's always chicken coups and the latest goblin unfortunate enough to get tossed in the bog."

"That's because it's always been about just him and us. We're his subjects, comes with the whole 'living in the labyrinth' thing. You on the other hand." Hoggle paused, as if carefully considering his next words. "Sure you talk to us a lot, but you've kept yourself out of his control. To tell the truth, that's the best place you can be. You see, he's still..."

Hoggle paused again, this time to glance around several more times before leaning in close to the mirror. When he spoke again, it was in a gruff whisper. "He's still bitter you know, even after all these years. Some say he'd do _anything_ to get you in his debt again."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "That's why they're called favors," she said eventually. "People do them as gifts for one another. The point is that you don't owe the other person anything afterwards... technically."

"It's not the technical part that worries me."

Sarah bit her lip, thinking it through. On one side an immortal, magical, goblin king who apparently hated her just as much as she liked to laugh at him. On the other side was Karen, her condition only worsening with each passing day. Hoggle had always given her good counsel before and very few things frightened him in the labyrinth like the wrath of his king, but she couldn't completely listen to his this time. Not when the king seemed to be her only option.

"Alright," she said as she took a deep breath. "I know you're only looking out for me, but I have to ask him. For Karen's sake... and Toby's as well. But I promise that I won't agree to anything if he starts making serious terms or if it's worded weirdly or anything like that at all. At least, not until I consult with you three. Is that okay?"

Hoggle let out a soft, reluctant grumble. "I still don't like the idea of you have anything to do with him at all," he muttered. "But I can understand why you have to."

"Thank you," Sarah said, a smile finally breaking onto her face. She lifted her own hand against the glass, spreading out her fingers as her palm reached the edge. Hoggle glanced at it briefly before looking away. Blatant signs of friendship still embarrassed him after all these years. She resisted the urge to draw a heart on the glass, knowing the smudges from her finger would stick on the other side for several days before beginning to fade. Instead she leaned back and took a deep breath of fresh air before settling her hands in her lap.

"Now. How do I summon him without wishing anyone away in the process?"

"You mean you don't know?"

Sarah shrugged, several strands of hair falling over her shoulder as she did. "All I know about the labyrinth I learned from that book of mine. And even the things I learned from that didn't work out the way they were supposed to," she said, remembering how the archaic rhyme she'd quoted had done absolutely nothing.

"It's all rather simple, when you get down to it. Despite his majesty's love for..."

"Glitter?"

"...the dramatic, when it comes to business he's always been more of one to get straight to the point. Just wish for him to show up and he probably will... as long as he feels like it. Then again, it also helps that it'll be you'll be the one doing the calling."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sarah asked suspiciously.

"You see, well, it's like I told you. Even after all these years, your whole time here in the labyrinth is a rather touchy subject. We usually avoid talking about you around him less we want to get dipped in the bog."

"I see he's still immature and as much of sore loser as ever."

"And you might not want to say those kinds things around him, seeing as how you _are_ trying to get his help for free."

"Very true," Sarah said with a slight sniff of self-importance. "I will try my best to keep a civil tongue."

"As I was saying, he's still not very fond of you. Wary even, though for what I've never been sure. The point is that... well, ever since you got back he's been kind of keeping a loose eye on you. Almost waiting for you to summon him back into your world."

"What."

"I told you," Hoggle said as though those three words explained everything. "It's best not to go meddling in things you've managed to stay clear of so far." He let out a sigh. "But - like you said - it's the only way. I'll go ahead and find the others for when you call back. Remember. Not an agreement on _any_ deal until all three of us have heard it first. Even something that seems innocent to you could have big consequences down here. Don't take anything for granted. Nothing at all."

The dwarf stuck his hands in his pockets and began to wander off to the left.

"Hoggle, wait!"

But her friend had already vanished, the mirror's image fading to reflect only her own tear-stained face. She considered calling him back, but he had his work cut out for him finding her other friends.

And she had her own tasks at hand.

She still wasn't sure how to quite feel about the fact that Jareth had been watching her... or rather "keeping a loose eye on" as Hoggle had described it. She hoped he wasn't able to spy on her with the crystals he used to keep tabs on the labyrinth. Most likely he couldn't. She remembered the first time Hoggle had told her about his crystals and how paranoid she'd become until he'd also told her that their power extended only to the edges of the labyrinth. She assumed that they'd have only less power in this world.

Hoggle definitely seemed assured on the fact that the king hated her though. It was the first time her friend had directly told her something about the king. Jareth rarely came up in her conversation, but when he did the three of them were good at redirecting the conversation to some other interesting topic.

For not the first time, Sarah wondered if she was the first ever to beat the labyrinth. With the labyrinth and its inhabitants as old as they were, from a probability stand point it didn't seem possible that she'd be the first, and yet her victory was another topic that tended to get derailed whenever it came up.

If he truly hated her, was it because of that? Or was there some other mysterious reason she hadn't discovered yet. If he did hate her, perhaps this was all just a giant waste of time.

But no matter how much she thought and contemplated her situation, it all boiled down into two simple points.

Karen was dying, and Jareth had the power to help.

With that in mind, Sarah stood up from her desk. With one shaky hand, she drew a heart on the mirror anyways. When she'd been talking to Hoggle, summoning the Goblin King to ask for a favor had seemed like a piece of cake. However, now that she was about to say the words - _choose your right words_ - she needed all the self-encouragement she could muster.

"I wish the Goblin King would be here," Sarah said. "Right now."

Her fingers gripped tightly onto the back of her chair as the last two words left her mouth. She could almost taste the way they tumbled out, escaping into the atmosphere like a messed-up telephone message you could never erase.

"And to what do I owe this delayed pleasure?"

Sarah whipped around to see _him_ lounging on her bed, foot hooked over one knee as he stared at her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Tearing her gaze away from his face, she watched as his fingers ghosted over the pillow she'd been crying on earlier. She briefly wondered if he could feel the dampness. Sarah felt the urge to touch her cheeks - they had to still be red; he had to know that she'd been crying - but resisted, curling her fingers into tight fists instead.

"I wanted to ask you for a favor," she said stiffly.

His eyes narrowed slightly at that.

"I don't usually 'do' favors," he said in clipped tones. "Not without a promise of something in return and _especially _not for my enemies."

"Well... for an enemy, your subjects are still rather friendly to me."

"That only makes you a more annoying enemy."

"Look, while I've love to take the time and muse on the exact nature of our relationship, I didn't ask you here for my personal sake. Will you help or not?"

That was apparently the wrong thing to have said. Jareth scowled, pushing himself off her bed.

"Very well," he said, stopping directly in front of her. He crossed his arms, the leather of his jacket crinkling slightly. "What do you desire so much that you'd wish me here after all these years?"

Her stomach dropping at the disdain in his eyes, Sarah felt herself begin to take an involuntary step back, but caught herself in time. With both feet firmly locked in place, her fists tightened as she strengthened her reserves.

"Karen is very sick," Sarah said as calmly as possible. "Our doctor says that there isn't much that he can do. I'd appreciate it if you could heal her. Please." She doubted that he'd be one to be swayed by a bit of tacked on courtesy, but it didn't hurt.

Instead he simply stared at her, one eyebrow slowly raising as he continued to examine her face. She tried to keep his eyes locked with his, but there was something about the close proximity that began to gnaw at her soul. Her stomach dropped even further. Cursing herself for her lack of endurance, she turned her head. She could still see the faint heart on her mirror where she'd traced it.

Fat load of good it was giving her now.

"Karen is... your stepmother?"

The question was purely inquisitive, blank of any external emotion. She glanced at him briefly, noting his calm expression before looking down. He was still wearing that weird pendant.

"Yes."

"Toby's mother."

"Yes."

"And I take that she is dying? Or rather, dying faster than the rest of you mortals do?"

"Yes," Sarah said gritted out through her teeth. She fought the urge to slam her fists into his side. She needed him; she had to remain civil. Perhaps he was simply gauging how much magic the deed would require. She could give him the benefit of the doubt for that. She could also slam her knee up.

"Not interested," Jareth said, casually spinning around as he walked away.

"What?"

He paused halfway across her room and looked at her from over his shoulder. "I find nothing to gain in it, therefore I am not interested."

"But Toby-"

"Ceased to be my concern after you rescued him and destroyed half of my labyrinth in the process."

"What are you talking about? Aside from that one Escher room, I never destroyed anything. And don't think that I'm saying that out of denial, because I'm not. I've talked with hundreds of different goblins and other creatures since that night and not one... Wait, why am I even getting into this? This is about Karen, not me."

"Yes, yes. So you have said."

Sarah forced herself to take a deep breath. "Alright, fine. You win," she said. His back was still turned to her. "I'll make a deal with you. Just say what want. You can have anything."

That got his attention. He smoothly turned back around, a feral grin on his face.

Sarah remembered Hoggle's words. Perhaps her friend had been right. Perhaps the price _would_ be too high. She imagined her friends together, waiting beyond the mirror for her to call them. However, imagining them there didn't change the fact that they weren't here now.

"Anything?"

Sarah forced herself to think of Karen. Of Toby.

"Name your price," she said cautiously. "And then I'll decide."

"Hmm... I choose nothing."

His words hit her like a punch in the gut. What was happening? This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Excuse me?" she asked, still in disbelief at his completely flippant demeanor.

Difficulty, yes. Sarah expected that. He'd never been one to make things easy. Eventual bargaining had been almost a certainty. Despite her inclination to try and believe the best in everyone, even she knew better than to think that the Goblin King would do something like this for free. That was the point of haggling though; one would start off low in the hopes that prices wouldn't climb too high.

But of all the possible things, she would've never expected complete and utter _disinterest_.

"You heard me clear enough," Jareth said. "You, Sarah Williams, have nothing that I desire, nothing about you that would be worth the price of your step-mother's life. And, if that is all you wished me here for, then I will be taking my leave."

"But you can't!" she cried out, grabbing for the sleeve of his jacket as he started to fade. Her fingers merely slipped through his arm. He stared at her as he took a step back before re-materializing.

"Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?" He sneered as she tried to take a step forward, only to freeze as the full weight of his derision struck her. "For a mortal you sure are assured of your own importance. I already told you that I have no desire to deal with you. I'd advise you to instead direct your wishes towards someone who cares."

And before she could say anything else, he vanished.

Sarah stood there, alone, in her old bedroom. The details of the conversation she'd just had spun over and over again in her head. Her eyes were clear as she stared blankly at the opposite wall, too much in shock to cry.

Nothing to offer. Assured of her own importance. Not even worthy of a deal.

"Hoggle, I need you!" Sarah yelled as she yanked her desk chair back and slammed herself down in it. She crossed her arms, muttered streams of cursed under her breath as shock slowly began to ebb into fury.

When Hoggle appeared in her mirror again, he was indeed flanked by her two other friends. Didymus began to smile, his moustache twitching in a friendly greeting, but it quickly faded after one look at her fuming expression. Ludo's reflection barely fit, the mirror's frame cutting him off at mid-nose, but at least his mouth seemed to be in a neutral position.

"I take it that things did not fare well, my lady?" the old fox ventured.

"Argh! Who is he anyway to put his stupid ego above someone else's life? You'd never see me deny someone else common decency,_ especially _if it was a matter of life and death!"

"His majesty didn't like the idea of a favor?" Hoggle asked.

"He didn't even like the idea of a deal," Sarah said bitterly, pounding her fist against the hard surface of the desk. The pain spread out through her bottom knuckles, but she easily ignored it. "He said I have nothing to offer. What a pack of lies! I'm Sarah Williams," she said gesturing to herself. "I'm the one that beat his stupid labyrinth. If I don't have anything to offer, who does?"

"I see," Hoggle said, looking mildly pensive.

"He hasn't heard the last of me though. You said he keeps an eye on me from time to time? Well, let me tell you. It's going to real interesting for him soon because... because I'll do something. Something he'll regret. That's for sure! Who does he think he is?"

"Well," Hoggle said. "He is the king."

"Horrible excuse for a king if you ask me."

"Perhaps he just wasn't feeling good. Threw four goblins-"

"Five," Ludo rumbled, his hand extending as he counted each finger.

"Five goblins," Hoggle corrected. "In the bog yesterday. Perhaps something's just on his mind."

"'Something' is not a reason to be a terrible person! I don't care if he woke up this morning with a stomach flu. You don't turn your back on someone like this. Not if you have a soul anyway."

"He's... his majesty's a complicated person."

"I can't even believe that you're defending him, Hoggle! What would an immortal like him... what does he know about human pain and suffering? What has he ever lost?"

"Many things, my lady," Didymus said softly, his eyes downcast.

Sarah froze in mid-rant. She slowly turned her attention to the small fox.

"What- What's that supposed to mean?"

She stared at Didymus, waiting for an answer, but he remained silent. She turned to Ludo, but as she couldn't even see the top part of his face it didn't do much good. She shifted her attention to Hoggle, but his eyes were already focused at the ground.

"You're really trying to tell me that he understands what I'm going through? Don't you all realize how ridiculous that sounds? You've all told me yourselves, he's been ruling the labyrinth for thousands of years. You see, that's the thing about human pain. To even begin to understand it, he has to have been..."

She trailed off, instantly recognizing the guilty looks on their faces. The look they always shared when she stumbled across a topic they didn't want her exploring. Her eyes widened.

"He was human once," she said simply, the concept having trouble taking root in her head. Didymus and Hoggle separately looked at her, only to turn away from her questing eyes. "Didymus! Ludo! Hoggle! What do you know about this? What _have_ you known about this? You have to tell me!"

"I don't know nothing," Hoggle said, having difficulties with trying to look at her while avoiding her eyes. "All of it happened before my time."

"All of what?"

Hoggle squirmed beneath her gaze. Didymus frowned and wrung his hands together before looking away.

"All of what happened," Hoggle eventually said. "That is... how you-know-who became you-know-what."

"Let me get this straight," Sarah said. All sorts of new possibilities were beginning to run through her head. "Mr. Royal Tightpants was human once. He was a human just like me, a human without magic. And now... now he's immortal and can make illusions and potentially cure cancer. Don't you know what this means? I don't _need_ him to help Karen." Her face brightened. "All I have to do is get my own magic."

"That won't work," Didymus said.

"Why not?" Sarah said. "All I need to do is find-"

"My lady..."

"-the same source of magic that he found and-"

"My lady..."

"What?" Sarah asked, slightly annoying at the interruption of her reverie.

And then she looked at Didymus, truly looked at him. The smile that had been creeping up her face fell as she took in the gaunt faces of her three friends.

"The king wasn't given magic," Didymus said. "He took it.


	2. The Tale of Jareth: Part One

A/N: So this chapter got away from me and ended up twice as long as I thought it would. It's also the chapter where I'm expecting to lose half my followers because of a sudden deluge of Jareth!backstory and OCs. Oh well, maybe you guys won't mind. I promise Sarah will return after Jareth's completed his transformation into the Goblin King.

Also, trigger warnings for domestic and emotional abuse in the later half of the chapter.

* * *

**- 863AD**

It wasn't the friendliest game of tag the two boys were playing around the inn's courtyard. The elder boy was nearly twelve and at the start of his path to knighthood, his muscles already strengthening from increased training. At first glance it seemed like he had the advantage, his brawny frame towering over that of his younger brother's.

But then the younger one would duck, would dodge, his thin figure almost in a dance as he weaved back and forth just out of his older brother's range. His pale blond hair whipped around his face in the wind, and he let out a laugh as his older brother extended himself too far and tumbled over his shorter legs into the muddy ground.

"Don't you dare laugh!" the older one said, wiping the muck from his cheek.

"What are you going to do, Merric?" the younger brother asked with a smile, albeit from a safe distance. "Wish me away to the goblins?"

"Goblins?" Merric picked himself off the ground and wrinkled his nose at the muck on his trousers before turning his attention back to his brother. "What nonsense have you been picking up from the locals this time?"

"It's not nonsense!" the younger boy said, clenching his fists. "There's this woman that they talk about, a sorceress, and she kidnaps children and turns them into goblins. Only she doesn't steal them. People have to wish them to her away first."

"A considerate sorceress who rules over goblins?" Merric snorted. "What rubbish. Honestly I don't know why you listen to them. Perhaps father and I should leave you here when we move on. You certainly would fit in well enough."

"Take that back!" the younger one said. "You're only saying that because you're too stupid to remember stories, let alone come up with your own." He paused, seeing the sudden glower on his brother's face. In hindsight, he shouldn't have ignored it. "Personally I think it's a good story," he muttered.

"You do, do you? Well," Merric said, "if that's what you really think, I wish the goblins _would_ take you away. Right now."

The younger brother could've sworn he heard a cackle from behind a nearby bush before the world went dark.

* * *

Gareth slowly blinked his eyes, the world gradually coming back into focus. He was lying down, his head propped up on something soft, a cool pressure dabbing at his forehead.

He blinked again. A black-haired woman was leaning over him, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth.

"Who are you?" he whispered, still groggy from whatever had just happened. "Where am I?"

The woman didn't say anything, choosing to simply smile instead. Gareth turned his head away from her touch, taking in the rest of the room. It was some kind of a dining hall, a large feast set out on a long table in the center of the room, but it was so unlike the dining halls at both his father's castle and those of the surrounding lords. This room was light and airy. The white walls and floors - where they weren't covered by elaborate tiled pictures - reflected the sunlight as it streamed in between archaic pillars and open windows. No glass, no shutters, just an open invitation to the elements. Glancing up, he saw that the ceiling had been built the same way; a large circle was cut out in the center, the remaining white stone painted with an elaborate maze.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of black curls. The strange woman was still sitting next to him.

He attempted to stand, but another wave of dizziness caught him and he stumbled.

"Take your time," she said, speaking at last as she helped him back down to the strangle reclining half-bench, half-bed he'd been laying on. "You have thirteen hours before you'll be going anywhere unless your brother can make it through my labyrinth before then. Although to be honest, my hopes are not high for him."

She grimaced, her face darkening, as she walked away. "The ones who rely on the brute force of their physical abilities are always the weakest in the end," she continued. "Wit, for those who choose to master it, has always been the superior weapon."

Gareth sat up further to get a better look at her. The woman was standing by one of the open windows, her profile to him. Her long black hair, lightly curled, trailed all the way down her back over a loose, white gown that blended into the floor below. Her proud eyes were a warm brown as they gazed out onto whatever landscape lay below. Her red lips curled into a half smile as she leaned her weight against her hands, long fingers splayed out over the white stone. She looked... ageless.

"Who are you?" Gareth asked for the second time.

The woman turned, a mock offense plastered over her face. "I can't believe that you haven't figured it out yet," she said, clutching one hand to her chest. "And after all the stories that you listened to and told of me."

Her words clicked in the back of his mind.

"You're the Goblin Queen," Gareth said calmly.

She merely smiled, her hand lowering as she walked back from the window, stopping at the table laden with food.

"My brother wished me away," he continued, the memories started to rush back. And then one in particular... he looked up, his eyes snapping wide. "You won't turn me into a goblin, will you?"

"Maybe. Not if I take a liking to you," she said. Her hands hovered over the feast, plucking up an assortment of fruits and breads to place on a golden plate. Her eyes swiveled to take the young boy in. "Tell me. Will I take a liking to you?"

"I don't know," Gareth mumbled. "That's up to you really, isn't it?"

Ariadne laughed. "Very true," she said. "Very true." She finished piling on her food and brought the plate to Gareth. "Here, I suspect you're hungry."

He stared at the golden plate. It _was_ certainly appetizing. The breads were riches with honey and nuts, and he'd never even seen half of the fruits before. They certainly were exotic, each tantalizingly plump with a mouth-watering, ripe sheen. At the same time, Gareth had heard stories of food like this. Delicious feasts cooked with the sole purpose of luring unfortunate souls into eating them. Food like that tended to be rife with curses, and it being offered by a beautiful person only added to the suspicion.

"Thank you, but I'm not really hungry," Gareth said, hoping to God that his stomach wouldn't growl and betray his true feelings.

"Hmm... suit yourself." She bit into an apple as she conjured up another cushioned bench out of nothing and stretched out on it.

"Why are you eating on these benches? There is a table. Don't you have chairs?"

"Comfort. And they're not benches, they're klinai."

Gareth didn't say anything to that, merely sat, twiddling his thumbs as he took in the sound of every fresh bite that the Goblin Queen made. A question sprung to mind.

"So... what's your name?" Gareth asked.

"Does a Goblin Queen need a name?" she asked in return, peering at him curiously over the top of her apple.

"Everyone needs a name."

She paused, considering the question as she examined the remainder of the apple. Gareth watched her, trying to ignore the rising nervousness that seemed to be coiling around his stomach. At last she tossed her mostly-eaten apple across the room where something dark and furry scuttled out of a corner to snatch it up. Gareth bit his lip to keep from crying out in alarm.

"It's Ariadne," the Goblin Queen said before plucking a grape from the dish and popping it in her mouth. "And you?"

"My- my name's Gareth," the boy said. "And my brother's name is Merric." One eye was still on the corner from where that _thing_ had appeared. Had that been a goblin? Were there more of them lurking where he couldn't see? How many more were there? Were they watching the two of them right now?

"The two of you don't seem like you're from Gaul," Ariadne said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"No," Gareth said, taking note of the archaic name for the region. "We're from Britain, near the western border of Mercia. It's up north. Our family is on a pilgrimage. Well, my father, brother and I are at least. My mother is managing the castle until we return."

Ariadne twisted her nose. "How... quaint."

She peeled open a long, yellow fruit, and the sweet scent seemed to instantly permeate the room. Once again he was reminded of how hungry he felt. The food that was practically burying the table it laid on was looking very good indeed, but Gareth kept his mouth shut. After all, magic was at its most dangerous when people were the most desperate. To distract himself from his stomach, he attempted to start up a new conversation topic.

"So where are you from?"

"Excuse me?" Ariadne asked, fruit paused halfway to her mouth as she stared at him.

"Nothing," Gareth said. "Just... I was wondering where you're from."

"This is the labyrinth. I've always been here."

"Oh." Gareth watched as Ariadne resumed eating, apparently self-satisfied with her answer. He was still curious though. "Like I said, I was just wondering. Just if there happened to be somewhere else, you know. If you _hadn't _always been here."

Ariadne paused again, this time placing her fruit fully down on the plate. Her head was turned in his direction, but it didn't seem like she was looking at him anymore. Gareth glanced behind himself, just to make sure someone hadn't suddenly appeared, but the two were still alone.

"There used to be a place, a far away place," Ariadne said. "For a little while... a lifetime, and yet not long at all. But the labyrinth has always been my home." She smiled sadly for a brief moment, and then her eyes focused on him again. "Why do you ask?"

Gareth shrugged. "I figured that since you asked me where I was from, you're at least somewhat interested in people being from other places, and then since you're interested in that, perhaps you used to be from somewhere else too... I guess. If that makes any sense."

She regarded him with one raised eyebrow.

"You're observant," she finally said, reaching for her plate of fruit again. "I'll give you that."

The two continued to talk more. Gareth told the Goblin Queen about his proud, strong father and his gentle mother; the small stone castle where he lived that wasn't anything like this; the king that his father served and _his _castle, an imposing structure that put his home to shame and yet also paled in comparison to this room of pure white. He spoke of family hunting trips and his doubts about becoming a knight when Merric had always been so much stronger, so much braver, and overall just so much superior. Ariadne waved that away, taking advantage of his soft doubt to tell him about the labyrinth, the wondrous creatures who dwelt its depths, its various twists and turns and pitfalls that its runners fell through, and the things that they took for granted.

At the end of one particularly gripping anecdote she paused, a slight pout marring her serene face as she looked down and realized that she was out of food.

"Well," she said as she stood up. "It's a good of a place to take a break as any." She gestured for Gareth to stand up as well.

"Oh, I'm still not hungry."

"No, no. I'm not going to force feed you if you don't want to," she said, brushing a thick black curl over one shoulder. "I want to show you something."

Warily, Gareth stood up, watching from a safe distance as she swiftly piled more food onto her dish. When it was full once more, she walked over to Gareth and guided him to a window with one hand pressing on the small of his back. She stepped back as he approached it, leaning over the white stone to fully view the lands beyond.

All around him was magic. A goblin city lay below, its red-tiled houses sheltering an assortment of brown creatures that made their way through cobbled streets and white fountains. In one square, several red furry creatures tossed their heads around beneath a large, bronze statue of a chicken. Beyond that was a forest, the trees and hills contributing their own portions to the giant maze. And then even more distant were the hedge rows that the queen had mentioned, and then the white maze past that. The desert surrounding it all was a thin, hazy line on the horizon, barely visible even when squinted. And as he watched, tried to take in everything at once, he became aware of the maze moving. One wall would shift and then another. Across the whole labyrinth, they swirled and danced. The walls extended down beneath the visible surface and into the depthless catacombs, the underground lakes, and oubliettes. He closed his eyes and could _sense_...

A light hand gripped his shoulder and Gareth's eyes snapped open.

"Is anything wrong?" Ariadne asked.

He looked out over the labyrinth. The maze remained just a maze. He thought of his brother, currently out there, running, and all of the traps and dangers she'd told him about.

"My brother... he'll be okay, won't he?"

The two looked at each other, and Ariadne smiled at the sight of his wide eyes. She ran one hand gently through his hair, soothing him.

"Fear not, young lord. People rarely die in my labyrinth. It's one of my kindnesses... as well as one of my cruelties."

"Cruelties?"

"I force people to live with the decisions that they have made," she said simply. "You sure think highly of your brother despite him wishing you away to me."

"He's my brother," Gareth said. "I mean, he can be an annoying jerk at times, but so am I. That's just... part of being brothers." He gazed out the window again, searching past each glimpse of movement in the giant maze. Was Merric out there right now? What if he'd gotten lost? What if he never made it to the center? "I wish I would've never brought up that stupid story."

"Well," Ariadne said, her hands resting on his shoulders to gently turn him back around. "I'm glad at least. Otherwise I would've never gotten the chance to meet you."

"So... have you taken a liking to me?"

Ariadne laughed, the sound almost musical. "Why yes," she said as they walked back to the klinai. "I suppose I have."

He thought more about his brother as he sat down, of the earlier days of their pilgrimage when the taste of adventure had still coursed through the air.

"This has been the first time I've left Britain," Gareth said, stretching out. He fought to contain a yawn. The hours were catching up with him. "I remember when we saw the ocean. Merric always tries to act so knowledgeable, like he's seen it all and nothing impresses him anymore. But even he couldn't hide it then. It was too big and too beautiful and, oh, too much blue."

"The sea is a beautiful and powerful thing," Ariadne said softly, reverently. "It gets in your mind, wraps around your heart." Her eyes fluttered shut and for several moments the two simply took in the silence. Then she opened her eyes and stood up. "I should check on your brother. Make sure he's not getting into too much trouble," she said. "Will you be okay by yourself? Regardless of your feelings, there is always food on the table should you change your mind."

"I think I'll be okay."

She smiled, patting him on the head once and then vanished.

Gareth bolted up right, his drowsiness gone. Had she just disappeared into thin air? She had conjured the other bench out of nothing. What other powers did she posses? A small part of him seemed to scoff at his alarm. Ariadne was the Goblin Queen who ruled over a giant magical labyrinth. What had he expected? To eat fruit, walk everywhere, and knit and sew and cook and do all the other mundane things like women he knew? When he thought about it, it would've been stranger for her _not _to have the ability to disappear at will.

He was still thinking about this when he suddenly spied another furry creature across the hall, slowly reaching a paw up towards a roll of bread on the table. In its other hand were already several strawberries, an apple, and a chicken wing.

"Hey! What are you doing!"

The creature dropped all the food and tried to scamper away. With its speed clearly faster than Gareth's, his only option was to bluff.

"If you don't stop right now, I'll tell the queen that you were stealing from her."

The creature froze. It turned in small jerks as if each movement was a painful, concentrated effort. "Stealing?" it asked in a high voice.

"Yes. 'Stealing.' You know," Gareth said. "Taking something that isn't yours?"

The creature appeared to consider this. It scratched its head in quick furtive movements. Gareth took the time to walk over, cautious lest it bolted. From the closer distance, he could tell that it was some sort of middle-aged fox wearing a grey jacket. It seemed male, although he had to admit that he really had no idea it being a magical creature and all.

"If the food is on the table," the fox said. "And one has the ability to take it, then why should he not?"

Gareth sighed. "Because it's wrong."

He answer was met with only silence and a blank stare.

"You know, 'right' and 'wrong'? There are things you should do and things you shouldn't?"

The fox paused again to scratch its ear. "And who decides these things?"

This time, Gareth had to think. He considered bringing up the Bible but didn't think it'd help much. If the fox didn't even know what right and wrong were, in all likelihood it wouldn't know about the book. With his luck, it'd probably start asking about who wrote it and why they got to decide things, and Gareth had never been the greatest expert of theology.

"No one really decides them," Gareth eventually said. "But my father has always lived by what's right and wrong, and I've noticed that things are better when you do. Knight's honor."

The fox perked up at the last couple words. "What is this... 'knight's honor'?"

Gareth started to explain but was cut off by a loud stomach rumble. He looked down; so did the fox.

"If you are hungry," it said. "Then why not take the food? Is it because of this 'knight's honor'?"

"Oh no. The queen said I could have as much as I wanted, but..." Gareth trailed off, thinking of all the potential curses the food could be steeped with. Ariadne had turned out to be rather nice, but that didn't change the fact that she'd technically kidnapped him. Though he had to wonder if it still counted as kidnapping if one party gave permission first.

"But what?"

Gareth hesitated, not wanting to admit that he didn't trust the queen fully. He doubted the fox would report back to Ariadne, seeing as how he'd just been trying to steal from her, but it didn't hurt to be safe.

"Are you sure the food won't accidentally turn me into a goblin?" Gareth asked instead. "Not that I'm saying it will turn me on purpose! But more like a side effect. I mean, I can't imagine that humans get to eat it very often, so there could always be some side effects that even she doesn't know about."

The fox shrugged. "The food is harmless," it said. "Why do think I'm trying to eat it? It's safer to risk food off her table than try ones luck with the berries in the forest." It paused to shake its head. "There are some that leave you thinking up is down for days on end, and others that create miniature illusions, and those are the safer ones. Outside the magic gets everywhere. Seeps everywhere! Here things are safe. Delicious and safe. However..." it trailed off, sniffing the air. "If it is strange food that worries you, why don't you just eat that peach that is in your pocket?"

"Wait, what peach?" Gareth was confused as he felt around his clothes until his fingers closed around a small lump towards the bottom of his jacket. He suddenly remembered picking the fruit off the churchyard's tree early that morning to hold as a quick snack later.

He pulled the small peach out and examined it - considering the possibility of sabotage - before deciding that, if he hadn't even realized it was there, Ariadne wouldn't have either. He bit in and relished its flavor, the warm sticky juice seeping out between his fingers.

"What is your name?" the fox asked.

"If'z Jareth," he managed between mouthfuls, too hungry now to fully chew and swallow before speaking.

"Jareth?" the fox repeated incorrectly. "That's an odd name. Heroic though. Brave! Strong! Fearless! Quick to cut down foes! Swift to victory. Jareth, Jareth yes. It is a marvelous name."

Gareth finally swallowed, wincing slightly as he forced a particularly large lump of fruit down. "Well," he said. "Actually it's..."

He trailed off as he saw the fox clearly enamoured with the mispronunciation, muttering the name under his breath, a far off sparkle in his eye. If a simple name could strike such a inspiring chord within the creature, it wasn't worth correcting.

"Nevermind," he said. "So what's your name?"

The fox beamed. "My name is Didymus!"

"That's... an interesting name as well."

"You think so? There are many interesting names and creatures in the labyrinth!" Didymus puffed out his chest slightly. "I am one of the first!"

"One of the first? Before Ariadne?" Gareth asked.

Didymus' chest deflated. Gareth almost felt bad for asking. Almost.

"No," he said. "The queen was here before us all. Though some say there _is_ one who was here in the labyrinth before even her."

"Who?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. Rumors _are_ only rumors after all... I am still curious to learn about this 'knight's honor' however."

With a slight sigh, Gareth led the fox back to the klinai. He sat upon his as Didymus climbed on top of the one that Ariadne had left, apparently comfortable with the furniture despite his earlier caution at the table. Gareth explained to the fox what a knight was, what his duties to his king were, how his own ancestors had been knights as well as lords, and how he and his brother were both prepared to take up the sword. He talked about the different facets of the royal court as the fox listened to it all with the most rapt attention.

"And they have to pay proper respect to their king and queen as well as their fellow lords and ladies," Gareth was saying.

"I see," Didymus said, somewhat sullenly. "I have never been very rich. How much payment is required?"

"Oh, it's not with money!" Gareth said quickly. "Paying respect is all about courtesy and titles, that is, different words we use to refer to one another. Like the queen! A normal noble woman would addressed as 'my lady', but the queen would be known as 'your majesty.'"

"Hmm... Shall we journey forth, your majesty? Shall we journey forth, my lady?" He mulled it over, comparing the two in his head. "I rather prefer the sound of the second."

"Well choose whichever you like, but for proper respect, kings and queens are always majesties."

They continued to talk about other titles and knightly things until Gareth began to yawn again. The excitement that the fox had provided only lasted for so long. He had no way of telling the time but felt that it had to have been at least an hour since Ariadne had left and Didymus had appeared.

"If you are tired, sir, then why not take a nap?"

His lips twitched upwards. Didymus was really taking a hold of his newly discover "knight's honor."

"I suppose..." Gareth said, leaning back on the klinai. The pillows were soft and the room warm. He didn't really want to fall asleep, not by himself like this in a strange magical world, but a short nap was starting to sound very nice. Despite his inclination not to, he shut his eyes, if only for a few seconds.

"Can I take this?"

Gareth blinked opened his eyes to see Didymus shove the peach pit in between his eyes.

"Umm... sure."

"Thank you so much, sir. Good sir!"

Gareth cracked a smile. "Look at you. You're a knight already."

"Oh no," Didymus said, now cradling the peach pit before pocketing it beneath his tiny jacket. "I know now that I have a lot to learn before I am worthy of becoming one of them, why first-"

As the fox continued to chat enthusiastically, Gareth slowly nodded, his eyes drifting shut again. He continued to smile as Didymus's chatter accompanied him to sleep.

* * *

When he woke up again, Ariadne had returned. She was standing by the window once more, her back to him.

As quietly as possible, Gareth pushed himself into a sitting position. It felt like he'd been sleeping for hours, but since the sun was still streaming in through the various pillars and windows with no apparent change to its position or intensity, he had no way of really knowing.

"There's one hour left," she said in a pensive tone, apparently hearing him despite his efforts to remain undetected. She pulled out a small crystal from the short sleeves of her dress and stared into its depths. "Your brother isn't going to make it." Ariadne turned, looking at him with sad eyes. "I'm going to have to make a choice."

Gareth looked down, curling his fingers into the slightly muddy fabric of his pants. He bit his lip, trying not to cry. "Merric..." he trailed off, not wanting to say the word 'failed'. "You won't turn me into a goblin, will you?" Gareth asked, suddenly desperate, his eyes locking onto hers and refusing to let go.

Ariadne's eyes widened, then softened. The crystal disappeared from her hand as she glided over to Gareth and sat down next to him. He let out an involuntary sob. One arm wrapped around him, drawing him closer to her as the other began to lazily trail through his hair.

"Ssh," she whispered, continuing to hold him as his tears poured out. "Nothing will happen to you. You have nothing to fear."

"But my brother-"

"Even if your brother fails to make it here within the hour, I will not change you into a goblin. I promise."

Gareth blinked. He cautiously brought a hand up, wiped the tears from his face. "Really?"

"Really."

"Does that also mean I'll be able to go back home?"

She remained silent. Uneasiness stirring in his gut again, Gareth tried to get a look at her face, but her arm held him securely in place. He struggled half-heartedly, knowing that it wouldn't be wise to seriously upset her, before settling back into a relaxed position.

"I don't do any of this because I want to," he heard her whisper.

This time, he was the one to not respond.

They sat there like that, the only movement her hand through her hair. He tried to think of other things. Things that weren't his brother, weren't his family, weren't completely dependent on the events of the next hour. He thought of the sun again. So it had been hours and hours since he'd fallen asleep after all; what _was_ this place anyway? Would this be his home for the rest of his life?

Knowing that he wouldn't be turned into a goblin had taken off some of the edge, but that didn't change everything else. So he was in a fantastical, magical world. So what? He missed his mother. He missed his father. His missed his home, its corridors, its courtyards. He missed sneaking into their kitchens to grab a late evening snack. He missed his brother.

After awhile, Ariadne stood up, giving him one last pat on the head. As she drew her hand back, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He trembled, fear spiking through his veins.

"Please don't make me stay here," he said, in an empty high voice. "I don't want to remain here in the labyrinth."

She stared back, not surprised, not sad, not anything. In that moment, her face seemed as rigid as the white stone she stood on.

"I know," she said, coldly. She knelt slightly, placing a soft hand on his shoulder as she lightly kissed his forehead. And then she was gone.

Gareth waited, debating whether or not to stay sitting or start pacing the room. He couldn't stay still, and yet he felt so sick to his stomach that he couldn't move either. He was about to grip his knees and lower his head when he heard the unmistakable voice of his brother.

"Gareth!"

He looked up to see Merric running towards him from across the room, dirt-smudged and tear-stained and looking just as distraught as Gareth had been feeling inside.

"Merric?" Gareth slowly stood up only to get tackled back down as Merric enveloped him in a crushing hug.

"I'm so sorry," his brother said, clutching tighter and tighter until Gareth finally returned the embrace. "I'm sorry I got mad. I'm sorry I wished you away. I'm sorry for all of this." Merric loosened his hold slightly, turning towards Ariadne who was now casually standing several feet away at the edge of the banquet table. "Please don't turn my brother into a goblin," he choked out between tears. "It's not his fault. Please don't "

"Oh cease your whimpering," she said, strolling over to tower above the two. Ariadne twisted her nose, and then smirked. "You have nothing to worry about that. I've decided to be merciful this time." She paused, sighing. "Both you and your brother are free to go."

The two brothers suddenly perked up.

"You mean it?" Gareth asked, recalling her silence when he'd asked about leaving before.

She smiled - although something about it didn't seem to reach her eyes - and knelt down to address the boys at their level. "Consider this a life-changing fork in the road of your destiny. Second chances to change your fate are rarer than you can imagine." Her smile faded. "Do not waste it."

"Oh thank you!" Merric said, clearly relieved by the new turn of events.

Gareth simply watched in silence as she stood back up. Ariadne procured another crystal from somewhere within her dress and tossed it up towards the ceiling; as it fell, it shattered in midair, the sparkling dust coalescing into a plain wooden door. She opened it to reveal the muddy courtyard that they'd been playing in that morning.

"Don't take too long though," she continued. "With the thirteenth hour passed, my link to the human world is fading." As if on cue, the image flickered, revealing the rest of the white hall for a split-second before the courtyard returned.

"Come on, Gareth," Merric said, tugging on his younger brother's arm. "You heard the queen. We've got our whole lives ahead of us. Father's been probably beating himself up with worry."

Gareth let himself be pulled one step forward before halting. He looked at Ariadne; her expression was unreadable.

"Will... will we ever see each other again?" he asked.

She must have been expected some other question or last words because her eyes widened, her carefully crafted mask of indifference shattering into one of surprise. She blinked.

"If that is what you wish."

He continued to stare at her, even as Merric resumed tugging on his sleeve to get them through the door. The last he saw before he tumbled through the door and the hall vanished were her brown eyes, round and sadder than they had any logical reason to be.

* * *

**- 865AD**

"Mother, your eye."

Gareth reached out a hand, but his mother turned away, shielding her face. He had seen it though, its surrounding skin a nasty shade of purple.

"It's nothing," she said, her breath coming out in small puffs. "Your father just had a bad dream." She took a step back as a servant passed them in the corridor. The winter sun shone in bleakly through a small window slit in the wall.

Gareth frowned. "He's been having a lot of those lately."

"Really, Gareth. It's nothing." She hurried away before he had the courage to press further.

At lunch, he sat again a wall eating a dried apple as he waited for his brother to finish his lessons. Merric emerged soon enough, and two brothers made their way across the castle's courtyard towards the hall.

"I'm worried about our mother," Gareth said at last.

His brother raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"She had a black eye when I saw her this morning. Again."

"What did _she_ say about it?"

Gareth sighed, knowing where this conversation was going. "She told me it was nothing."

"Then I'm sure it's just some-"

"No! It's not. I think father..."Gareth trailed off as he realized that they were still in the courtyard. He'd been raising his voice again with servants all around to hear every word. He fell silent.

Merric frowned, then awkwardly clasped him around the shoulders. "He's our father," he said. "We've known him all our lives. I'm sure he really is just having some bad dreams and it'll be nothing to worry about in the end." The last part came out hesitantly, as if he was trying to reassure himself more than his younger brother.

"But-" Gareth sighed. He turned his head upwards, gazing at the castle's ancient stone. It reflected the light off several small patches of snow, rendering the walls brighter than they normally were. A memory of white stone flickered through his head. As time passed, the memory seemed only more and more a dream itself. "Merric? Do you ever remember that day when-"

However he was interrupted as his brother's grip tightened and he was dragged off once more.

* * *

**- 866AD**

It should've been raining. It should've been dark, the clouds casting deep shadows over the land even at midday. The moon should've danced across the sky, blocking the sun from reaching the ground forever.

But it wasn't.

Birds fluttered through the sky, chirping blissfully naive songs, and the summer sun beat down, baking the earth, its rays rendering every visible detail painfully clear as his mother's coffin was slowly lowered into the earth.

His father stood across on the other side of her grave, his eyes avoiding those of his son.

Gareth closed his eyes, willed himself to breathe. Ever since her death, the weeks leading up to her death, all he'd heard were whispers. Other nobles, servants, it didn't matter. They were all the same.

His mother hadn't been faithful. He wasn't his father's son. Questions about who the mysterious man been. Remarks about how odd it was that Gareth looked so much like the lord, when he wasn't his true father. Gossip about whether or not it was a relative. Doubts about whether there'd been a scandal at all and if, perhaps, it was all in his father's head. But then why the dreams? Everyone in the castle knew about the dreams now, about the shouts at night. God sent. Devil sent. Were they there to warn or to create chaos?

All they had done was whisper, whisper, whisper and point and watch as his mother had slowly wasted away. A servant had been the one to eventually find her body, neck broken as she'd laid crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. An unfortunate accident, they'd all called it.

And he hadn't done anything either. Merely sat and cried as his mother continued to force a smile underneath every fresh bruise.

Pathetic.

He clenched his hands, only dimly aware of his nails breaking through skin and drawing blood.

Merric would've known what to say, what to do. But Merric was a squire now, had been one since the spring. He'd been apprenticed to a traveling knight and was now journeying somewhere, could've been anywhere, far away from here. They'd sent out a letter informing him of his mother's death, but it could take weeks to reach him and weeks for him to return home.

Until then, Gareth remained trapped beneath the whispers.

* * *

It'd been a month since the funeral when Merric finally returned home. Their father prepared a hearty welcome dinner for him, and as they ate he continued to prod Merric with questions about his training, where he'd been, if his knight sponsor had been treating him well. Merric answered them boisterously for the most part, obviously eager to share his new experiences with his remaining family. However whenever Merric took the opportunity of a lull in the conversation to ask about their mother or her funeral, their father would deflect.

Gareth spent the whole dinner in silence, barely looking up from his plate as he ate, just letting their words wash over him. When his father told him to go to bed, he meekly obeyed with a small nod.

He made it to his room, crawled beneath the covers, faking sleep, and waited the usual half hour until one of his father's servants came to check on him. Once he heard his door swish shut, he cracked open an eye, gingerly testing to see if it was safe to get up again. After he was more confident that the servant had indeed moved on with the rest of his nightly routine, Gareth crept out into the hallway silently making his way down the dark corridor. His father and brother were mostly likely done eating by now - and sneaking all the way down to the hall was riskier anyway, so Gareth headed towards his father's study. He often retired there when they had company for after dinner talks, and with any luck tonight would be no different.

As he approached, Gareth could indeed hear voices coming from the room and began to creep ever slower. He sidled the rest of the way to the study door with his back pressed against the wall, continuously glancing left and right to make sure no servants snuck by.

"He should really begin his training as a page," he heard Merric say. "He's getting old enough now, and I think it'd be a good distraction from everything that's been happening."

"You think I should spend my money on _him_?" his father snarled, the crackle of flames from the study's fireplace helping to punctuate each word. "On that spawn of a harlot? He isn't even my son!"

The last sentence came out in a roar, and Gareth almost missed the sound of the slap that immediately followed.

"Of course he's your son!" Merric yelled. "Why would he be anything else! What's happened to you? You've never had a single doubt before." There was a pause. Gareth leaned closer to the closed door, careful not press up against it, not wanting to even think about what would happen if it accidentally creaked. "Gareth was right," Merric continued. "I should've-"

There was another smack, the sound of flesh striking flesh, and then a thud followed by several clatters. Gareth imagined Merric stumbling back, clutching himself against his father's work table as several scrolls were knocked to the floor.

"One more word," their father said. "One more word and you will no longer be welcome in this house!"

Another pause and then footsteps, footsteps making their way towards the door. Gareth's mind fumbled, feet taking over automatically as he tried to scramble away, but Merric stepped out before he was even halfway down the corridor. Gareth watched as his brother wiped a trickle of blood off the corner of his mouth and then, as if sensing another physical presence, turned his head directly towards his younger brother.

"M-Merric..."

But his older brother merely rubbed the back of his now bloodied hand on the bottom of his tunic and walked away in the opposite direction.

* * *

**- 870AD**

The pale, sickly boy watched the festivities being prepared from the prison his room, disgust blazing his eyes. His fingers curled tightly against the edge of his window, his bones nearly creaking from pressure. Years of steady neglect had scraped away the once naive and cheerful boy, leaving only a bitter shell. Gareth turned from the window to survey his bare room. Before his mother died, he'd been taught to read and write. It was the one thing his father had been unable to take from him. Writing lined the corner and edges of his room, the words barely visible on the dark stone. Paper was too expensive, too precious to waste on a bastard son like him.

He'd grown to like the walls though, always enjoying the feeling of the ink seemingly seeping into the very bedrock of the castle itself. He liked to write of ancient times, of heroes and monsters, of magical realms where nothing was really what it seemed and couldn't be taken for granted. When he wrote, it felt like he was reconnected with some larger whole.

Several small, roughly-hewn, wooden sculptures littered the single desk in his room. They were little things he'd carved to pass the time, occasionally swiped from the kitchen's wood piles when his ink had run out for the day.

Time. Gareth snorted.

The rest of the castle was able to busy itself with duties, with purpose. The servants intermingled as they worked, catching their breath between tasks to quickly gossip about their day before time ripped them back apart. The only thing Gareth had was time. Time to sit around and do nothing. Time to _be_ nothing... except a caged pet.

He'd never understood why his father kept him like this. Gareth wasn't his true son. His father had been convinced of that for many years now. His father didn't speak to him, didn't speak about him, didn't even look at him anymore. And yet... he wouldn't let him leave either. Gareth had tried once, tried to push his father's anger, to be banished like his father had almost banished his brother, recanting - of course - when he'd realized that Merric was his "only" son. Nothing had worked. Escape had been out of the question too. Not that he hadn't tried. Once or twice, he'd attempted to simply sneak away through a servants' entrance in the middle of the night, only to be caught within seconds of actually leaving the castle.

The castle had more guards than necessary, and it'd always seemed like at least half had the explicit duty of keeping tab on him. But perhaps tonight would fare differently.

Gareth looked back through his window again, peering down into the courtyard as his brother Merric appeared. The two had spoken only fleetingly since that night four years ago, his brother only ever home for a few select holidays each year. It was the middle of December now, the end of the fast of St. Martin, and as such there'd be an enormous banquet tonight. The cooks would be busy, the guards would be drunk, and as his father played host to his brother, Gareth would be free to slip by.

He watched as Merric stopped up against a wall to flirt with one of cooking maids. As she blushingly looked away, Gareth tore himself away from the window, revulsion in his stomach. It wasn't that he had anything against maids or even pretended to feel offense at interclass mingling, but everyone looked at him like some creature to be pitied when they thought he wasn't looking. That particular maid had been no different. The feeling of their pity, of them looking down at him always crawled under his skin, made him feel so worthless. The same nauseating sensation returned then, threatened to consume him. His breath quickened as an unscratchable itch wormed its way into his heart and just ate and ate and ate.

The wooden sculpture shattered against the floor before he even realized that he'd thrown it.

He had to escape tonight. He had no other choice.

That night he packed the small amount of non-perishable food that he'd managed to squirrel away over the past several weeks and a few other survival tools. With one last look back at his room, his prison, he swung his small travel bag over his shoulder and made his way quietly down to the servants' entrance and - with a few quick glances to make sure no one had been watching - snuck through. So far so good.

The waxing moon shone brightly on the thin covering of snow, so Gareth hurried as quickly as possible to the safer nearby forest path where he wouldn't be as easily seen from the top of the castle's battlements.

He'd been traveling for not even a quarter of an hour, when he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats coming from the direction of the castle. His stomach dropped. He forced himself to stay on the road. Fleeing would only make him look more suspicious, and there was always the chance that whoever it was wouldn't recognize him. After his mother's death, it wasn't as if his father had provided him with the most luxurious clothes.

Fate was not on his side however. The rider turned the corner, and Gareth found himself face to face with his brother.

"How?" Gareth asked. The rest of the question went unsaid.

"Just because father doesn't care anymore doesn't mean that I feel the same way." Merric sighed. "Also, it's snowing and you're even worse at hiding your trail now than when you were little," he added with a smirk.

In earlier days, Gareth might have laughed. Now he only scowled. "So father hasn't noticed that I'm gone yet?"

Merric's smirk faded. He fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable, before slipping off his horse. He tangled the reins around his hands as he came to stand by his brother. "No," he admitted.

"Then why should I go back?" Gareth cried. "He hates me! I'm not a son. I'm not a stranger. He won't let me live, but he won't let me die! I'm like some twisted pet of his. He _killed _mother... and now he's killing me."

"I'm not saying that doesn't matter, but think of what you're doing! What do you think will happen if you just run away like this? Do you know how to fish? How to hunt? How to defend yourself if you're attacked? How will you survive? What skills do you have?"

"None! And, oh, I _wonder_ who's to blame for that," Gareth said, his sarcasm biting through the freezing air. "I know I have no skills. I have nothing, and I refuse to stay here like this until I literally become nothing."

He readjusted his bag and started to walk away.

"Wait! Gareth."

"If you stop me, you'll be no better than him."

"It's not that, it's..." Merric trailed off, and against his better judgement Gareth paused to wait for what his brother had to say. "Stay," he said. "Stay just another few months and I'll take you with me."

Gareth froze. His brother who'd left. His brother who'd seemingly abandoned him.

"This spring I'll finally become a full knight. I'll have my own stipend from the king," Merric said. "It won't be much, but it'll be enough to provide for two. Come with me and we'll run far away from here. Together."

A memory flashed. His brother, younger, tear-stained as he ran weeping across a white stone room, crushing him into a hug that had seemed to last forever. Marble, he thought distantly. The white stone had been marble.

His brother was still standing there as Gareth turned around, a sad smile on his face. Dropping the travel bag in the snow, Gareth dashed forward, throwing his arms around Merric as his brother's arms clamped securely around his back. He fought the tears that rose to his face and failed. He buried his face in his brother's shoulders, ashamed at how weak he was.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Hey," Merric said, patting him lightly on the shoulder until Gareth finally looked up. Merric smiled. "That's my line."

That spring, Danish invaders attacked Mercia, and his brother - newly knighted - was called into combat.

He never returned home.

* * *

**- 874AD**

It started small. The first person to fall sick had been an old farmer who'd lived over a mile way. Then one of the villagers fell ill, and then another. The plague spread rapidly through the town outside their castle, killing indiscriminately. The young, the old, the weak, the strong. In the end no one had been safe.

His father had tried to quarantined the castle, but the sickness worked its way in whether it'd been through the cracks in the walls or over the battlements themselves. It struck the cooks, the stablehands, the steward...

Growing up, Gareth had often wondered if he'd end up crying when his father eventually died. He'd taken so much from him, had crushed his soul, and yet deep down there was still a part of him that remembered the father he'd once been. It remember the smiling father, the laughing father, the one who used to take his two sons - because back then there had always been two - on hunting trips that could last for days, returning only when they had both a full catch and full hearts.

When his father actually died, succumbing to the plague after only a few days, Gareth found his answer. He watched in silence as two servants covered his father's corpse with a white sheet, the cloying scent of flowers itching at his nose. There were no tears, no anger, no happiness. In the end he didn't even feel relief at the death. He didn't feel anything about anything at all, except unending emptiness.

His father was gone. His brother was gone. Mercia had fought with the Danish for three years before their king had finally fled earlier this year, the eastern half of the kingdom falling in his wake. Three years of struggle and death, only to reveal itself as completely pointless in the end.

Gareth continued to stay in his room after the funeral, not eating, barely drinking. He was unaware of how much time had actually passed. Sometimes he'd blink and the morning sun would turn to dusk. He was dimly aware of a parched throat and a hunger constricted stomach, but he pushed those to the side. Occasionally he had visions of a tanned woman with dark black curls smoothing the hair from his face. His eyes would flutter close, his head leaning back until it hit the wall of his bedroom, and he'd jolt forward into the land of the living again. The land of the dying.

One day his door was kicked open, and he was roughly picked up by a pair of strange guards. They hauled him through the dark corridors of the now mostly empty castle, the stench of the sick and dying present as it was always present these days. The smell bypassed his stomach and wrapped straight around his head, making him dizzy.

The guards deposited him on the ground in front the castle gates, and he crumpled into a heap. Above him loomed a finely-dressed man on horseback. Other people both standing and mounted surrounded him. Gareth weakly looked up at the banners. He knew that sigil; it was Lord Brian from the neighboring fiefdom.

The large man dismounted, pulling out his sword in one fluid movement. Gareth's gaze fell to the ground as Lord Brian stood over him. He felt the sharp, cold blade come to rest at the back of his neck.

"Everything I have learned," Lord Brian said loudly so that his attendants would hear. "Everything I have experienced in my life thus far tells me to slay you right here."

Gareth glanced up. The older lord stared back, his face burning with passion. Gareth dropped his head again, tired. Unfeeling. He had nothing in his life, nothing to lose. At least his death would be swift.

But then Lord Brian turned away.

"When this plague began," he said, addressing the others. "When this divine punishment struck both our lands I received a vision, a promise of future prosperity." He turned back to Gareth. "Months ago I saw myself sparing your life, a dream that I thought nothing more at the time. But now we are here, I the conquerer and you the conquered. How easy it would be to take your life and claim your lands as my own without threat of future retribution."

Gareth felt the sword raise; he winced in anticipation despite himself. And then there was the sound of metal sliding across metal, and Gareth looked up to see Lord Brian sheathing his sword.

"May this be a fortuitous crossroad in our destinies," Lord Brian said. "I shall heed the greater powers. Go. I give your life. It is yours to do with as you wish."

Gareth simply stared. Lord Brian's eyebrows lowered, clearly impatient at Gareth's lack of action.

"I said, go!"

His anger set off two large black dogs at Gareth's right that suddenly lunged at him, barking, their leashes taunt as their handler was nearly flung forward. It startled Gareth whose legs finally took over, and he began to run and run and never looked back.

He continued running even after he'd reached the relative safety of the forest path, and it was only after he'd tripped on a sprawling tree root that he finally slowed to walk. Even so Gareth continued to trudge on for hours, letting his mind disengage as his lower half kept putting one foot in front of the other, until his entire body gave out and he collapsed into unconscious in the middle of the forest road.

* * *

Gareth awoke slowly, a cool cloth continuously pressing against his forehead. He mumbled weakly, trying to swat it away.

"Who's Ariadne?" a light, female voice asked.

His eyes shot open, the name and memory striking him to the core. Gareth tried to sit up, but was once again too weak. He settled with blearily staring up as a young, brown-haired woman in a tattered dress stared down. She was seated on the bed next to him, clearly at ease despite her slightly confused pout.

"Who are you?" Gareth managed. Peering around the small room, he added, "Where am I?

The woman's pout faded as she sighed. "That's not what I asked, but I suppose I should be kind to the ill. You're in my parents house," she said. "In the village of Stafford. And my name is Moira."


End file.
